The Lonely Track
by Anduria Trianys
Summary: TW/SPN crossover. Post CoE for Torchwood. Stanford era for Supernatural. Some time after leaving Gwen and Rhys in Wales, Jack Harkness finds himself in America in late 2001, where he runs across a young green-eyed hunter. Sparks fly and connections are built. Jack/Dean, past Sam/Dean and Janto.
1. Chapter 1

_Okay, I know I'm supposed to be working on 'Forever Autumn' and 'Black Sunlight', but this story just wouldn't go out of my head! It's also probably the only time I will ever write a fic where Ianto is anything other than alive! :P _

* * *

**~CHAPTER 1~**

Over the years he had been alive, Jack had been to America – both current America and New America – on several different occasions, and each trip had been different to the last. Sometimes he had gone to find an excuse for a party – the Fourth of July celebrations in 66th century New Los Angeles immediately came to mind – and to have some fun. But other times it would be for a more sombre reason, such as when he had gone to Nashville in 1969 to say a final goodbye to one of the many whom he had loved and lost in his overly long life. If you could see him now, sat on a bench in a cemetery somewhere in the middle of Texas, barely six weeks after the events of September 11th had shaken the world, you could have easily thought that this was another one of those trips.

But not this time.

Jack had spent the last three months since leaving Cardiff after...after _it _had all happened doing what he had tried to tell himself was drifting. Nothing more and nothing less. If he had happened to keep ending up in places where he'd had something significant – and usually unpleasant – happen to him in his past, or even in his future, then, hey, that was nobody else's business except his own. At least, that was what he had told himself, right up until he had found himself staring over the wreckage of a once beautiful civilisation and one of the few survivors had come to tell him, in no uncertain terms, that what he was doing was nothing less than self-harm and that he needed to take some time out so he could try to sort out his messed up mind. Then, she had unceremoniously grabbed hold of his wrist and punched a few buttons on his vortex manipulator, sending him off to where, and when, he was now.

And that was late October 2001, sitting on a bench in a Texas cemetery – one of the few cemeteries where he knew there was no one he had a connection to buried (he had checked the minute he had figured out exactly where he was). At first, he had been annoyed at the forced transportation – he could have ended up anywhere after all, and it had been an invasion of his personal space. But now that he was here, he had to admit that it was relaxing to watch the stars and listen to the light autumn wind rustling gently through the trees. He even started to allow himself the time to play the old game of 'Which star system have I been to?', something that he hadn't played in years, decades even.

That unusual state of relaxation was probably why he didn't realise anything could be wrong until he was being pinned in mid-air by a tall ghostly-looking woman whose deadened white eyes were glaring at him with so much hatred and fury that he nearly recoiled. To prevent himself from letting his unease – and confusion – take control, he forced a smile to his face and quipped, "You know, the whole erotic asphyxiation thing might be your gig, lady, but it sure as hell isn't mine."

He tried to grab a hold of her and throw her off him, but her grip just got stronger, cutting off his air supply. "Okay," he said, "technically, whatever you do to me isn't really going to make an awful lot of difference, but it does hurt right now. So if you could just –" but his words were cut off when she let out a rasping hiss and threw him – hard – against the cemetery railings.

Jack scowled. "Ow," he muttered, scrambling to his feet and searching for his Webley. Sure, he had been intending to ask her to let go of him, but that hadn't quite been what he'd had in mind, to put it mildly. "Okay, I get that you're mad at something, but I promise you, I'm not out to...get you or anything like that. So," he gulped as the ghost (if it was a ghost, it certainly looked like one) advanced on him, "why don't we just calm down and maybe try to talk about this like normal human beings?"

Evidently, though, whoever this woman was, she wasn't a talker, because the only response he received was another low hiss before she was grabbing him and throwing him across the cemetery again. "Okay," he said, pulling out his gun as he walked backwards away from her, "so you like it a little rough, do you? Well, I'd be a little careful about that if I were you. You see, you just never know when you might be about to go in over your head." He pulled the trigger on his gun and fired off a shot. In truth, he hadn't really expected very much to happen, possibly for her to slow down if he was lucky. But at the same time, he hadn't expected her to suddenly materialise right in front of his nose looking even angrier than before, slap his gun out of his hand as if it weighed absolutely nothing and then start pushing him further backwards, her mouth opening wide as if she was trying to suck his life force into her. Jack shuddered and closed his eyes against the coldness, praying that it would be over soon, whatever it actually was.

But then, just as unexpectedly as the whole fight had started, it suddenly stopped. The pressure on Jack's body disappeared and the shock of it made him stumble backwards and sideways. He tripped over as he fell, landing on top of something...something that felt firm, but soft.

He opened his eyes slowly and nearly jumped when he found himself staring into a pair of deep jade green eyes which were currently narrowed in confusion and definite hostility. Blinking, he managed to move his head back far enough to notice that the eyes belonged to a young man, only a few years out of his teens by the looks of it. He was well built, about Jack's own height, and very good-looking with short and messy dark blonde hair, a light dusting of freckles and...wow, Jack wasn't sure when the last time he'd seen a man with such an _enticing _mouth, especially with the light of the nearby fire playing over him...

_Wait. The light of the nearby fire? _

Slowly, Jack turned in the direction of the flickering light and gasped a little when he realised that they were lying right beside a dug up grave. Squinting, he could see an open coffin containing the remains of a skeleton in amidst the flames. He wrinkled his nose a little at the smell of gasoline coming from the fire and then turned to look at the man again, his heart pounding violently. "You...you're a hunter."

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the young man's jaw tightened and, in a movement that was so fast that Jack would have missed it if it was happening to anyone else, he pushed him down onto the grass and was stood above him, a gun pointed directly at his face. "Who the hell are you?" he growled, his voice oddly husky for someone so young.

Jack's eyes widened. "I don't usually go for gun porn until at least the fifth date, kid," he said.

"Yeah?" The man snorted. "Well, that doesn't mean squat to me. Frankly, I'm a little more concerned about how the hell you know what I do, because honestly? Random people turning up dressed like World War Two just threw up on them isn't really a good thing. How do I know that you're not going to try and gank me?"

"Surely if I was, I would have done it already," said Jack blandly. He could understand the man's antagonism, but that didn't mean it didn't sting. "Look, you can shoot me with those salt rounds you're packing if you like. Hell, stab me with iron or silver and drench me with holy water, it won't make a difference. I'll do it myself to prove that I'm human if I have to. Now, if I had something to hide, would I do that."

"_Christo_," was the only reply he got. He wasn't entirely sure what the man was looking for – there were a few gaps in his knowledge of supernatural lore – but whatever it was must not have been there, because the gun was lowered, though the green eyes didn't look much more trustful. "Any funny business and you'll be feeling a lot more than salt rounds," he warned.

"Duly noted," said Jack. "But now, maybe we can get to the introductions. I'm Captain Jack Harkness. And you are?"

The man looked at him sharply for several minutes before turning his attention to the burning mess inside the coffin. "Dean Winchester," he eventually ground out.

Jack nodded. "Nice to meet you, Dean Winchester. And, before you ask, because I know you're going to, that," he nodded towards the grave, "was a bit of a giveaway about what you do."

Dean looked a little embarrassed, though not much more trustful. "Yeah, well, there's no really subtle way to do a salt and burn in a freakin' graveyard," he muttered. "Especially with all the noise you were making and did you seriously have to say all that crap about liking it rough? I'm gonna have nightmares for weeks about that crazy bitch using whips and chains, man."

Jack snorted. "Yeah, well, I guess I owe you one for saving my life, but could you have taken a little less time to do it? That witch nearly throttled me!"

"I'd like to see you try doing this on your own!" snapped Dean. "It's not as easy as it looks!"

Jack started. "You hunt alone?" he asked, belatedly noticing the hints of tiredness in the younger man's green eyes. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"It's always been dangerous," said Dean indifferently, scowling down at the now flickering embers. "Even when I was hunting with my dad and my..." he stopped abruptly. "Wait, why the hell am I telling you this? I barely even know you!"

"Well, that can change quite easily," smiled Jack. "Let's get this thing filled in and then I'll take you out for a drink or something. Just to say thank you for, you know, saving my life and all." He held out his hand. "Come on, it's my treat. It's the least I can do. Believe me."

Dean frowned, weighing his options. He wasn't sure how much he trusted this strange man who looked at him so hard and seemed to know so much behind his winning smile and he certainly didn't like that he knew about what he did. On the other hand, it had been a tough hunt and he could really use a few hours to relax, plus, if he was honest with himself, some company wouldn't go amiss. Hunting had never been the best opportunity for making friends for life, but he felt the solitude even more now that Sam –

He shook his head; he was _not _going down that line of thought sober, if at all. "Okay," he finally conceded. "But that doesn't mean we're going to start pouring our hearts out to each other. We're not a pair of teenage girls, damn it." He forced himself to ignore that strange new voice that was telling him that maybe Jack was the one person who might actually understand what he was feeling. He didn't want to hear it. "Come on," he added, "let's re-bury this bitch." He grabbed the shovel and started covering the broken coffin with soil, only realising after about five minutes that Jack was still standing back and watching him with a mixture of amusement and interest.

"What?" he snapped, irritated. "Are you just going to stand there and stare at me until the sun comes up?"

"Well, you are a very pretty sight," answered Jack, shrugging. "And it doesn't hurt that every time you bend over that shovel, I get a really great view."

"Seriously?" Dean's eyebrows shot up. "It's not enough that you're just standing there, but now you're hitting on me too? Come on!" He added another two shovelfuls of dirt before he realised that Jack was chuckling at him. "What?" he snapped. "Something funny?"

Jack snorted. "Are you always this much of a ray of sunshine? Anyone else would've been honoured to have me interested in them."

"Yeah, well, I'm not most people," said Dean. "And while you're a handsome devil –"

"Don't tell me you don't swing that way," interrupted Jack. "I can _always _tell. Trust me. Well, apart from that one time, but hey, everyone gets it wrong once, right?"

Dean groaned. "You know what?" he said, slamming the shovel into Jack's chest before he ended up giving into the urge he had to ram it somewhere else. "You finish it." He was determined not to shout, but damn it, he'd had a rough day and he just wanted to get out of this place as fast as he could! He did not want to be breaking his back over a grave while some stranger just came onto him.

Jack raised an eyebrow at him. "God, you're hot when you're angry," he said, shrugging off his coat. "I'll have to remember that."

"Just...get on with it," sighed Dean, rubbing his face. He was tired and sore and just didn't want to argue.

"And now you're checking me out when I bend over," answered Jack who was obviously smirking as he gave his backside a small wiggle.

"Shut up," muttered Dean. He could feel his face starting to heat up and he cursed that effect that Jack's words were having on him. Even worse, he found his gaze being drawn towards the older man, taking in the smooth contours of his back and the way his trousers fit him – snug, but not too tight. "Fuck," he muttered, desperately trying to look away, but only managing to notice more of Jack's many...attributes. The man was...well, he was hot, there was no question about it. Those bright blue eyes, the way his hair fell naturally over his head and the muscular body that Dean was sure was beneath the heavy greatcoat.

If Jack had simply been gorgeous, but a complete asshole, Dean might have found that easier. But despite the blatant flirting, he could tell that the man was a kind-hearted guy and even though they barely knew each other, Jack had made him feel more alive than he had since –

_No way, _he told himself, scowling at the ground. _Don't even think about going there. Not now, not again. Just don't. It's for the best now..._

"Hey." Jack was suddenly standing in front of him wearing his coat and tucking his gun back into its holster. "So, that's all done. Now, about that drink?"

"Right." Dean forced himself out of his thoughts and focused on his new companion. "My car's just around here," he added, leading Jack out of the cemetery and trying to ignore the tingle that shot through him when their arms accidentally brushed together.

"Wow," said Jack when he caught sight of the sleek black Impala. "She's certainly a beauty the likes of which I've not seen in a while." He ran his hand affectionately over the car's hood. "She's in fine condition, too."

"Of course she is," said Dean. "Only the best for my baby girl. Sam used to tease me rotten about it, but I said, Sammy, a car has to be well-treated if she's gonna run right."

Jack felt a flicker of curiosity about who Sam was, but he squashed it down and dusted as much of the dirt as he could off his clothes before he opened the door and sat down. "What?" he asked at the hunter's startled look. "Surely you should know that such a beautiful car deserves better than to be covered in grave dirt?"

Dean frowned. "You're making fun of me."

"Never," answered Jack. "I wouldn't ever do that. I have respect for the classics, Dean. You can trust me on that."

Dean blushed, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he just sat down in the driver's seat and turned the key in the car's ignition and drove off, but Jack couldn't help but notice that his boots were far less caked in dirt than they had been before.

* * *

"So, the night before it was all set to go down, they come to my cell and ask if I've got any final requests," said Jack. "I think they were expecting me to ask if I could get them to send a message to anyone – like I couldn't have done that myself if I'd wanted to."

"So, what did you ask for?" asked Dean. "Some free porn? A last-minute pardon?" he added almost as an afterthought.

"No, just a meal with them before they had to kill me," answered Jack. "A kind of last supper, if you will."

"Okay, Jesus." Dean nodded. "So, what happened?"

"Well, I think they were a little surprised, but they agreed. Said they'd make it a good one so I'd have something to cling onto before, you know, they executed me."

"And was it?"

"Er," Jack thought for a moment, "I can't say that I remember, but it must have been, because I woke up in bed with both of them."

Dean nearly choked on his beer, his eyes bugging out of his head. "You _slept _with them?"

"Hey, it got me out of trouble, which, I might add, was not actually my fault," said Jack, shrugging. "They chased me for a while, caught me again and this time I managed to clear up the whole misunderstanding." He grinned. "Lovely couple, though. Kept in touch for years."

Dean shook his head. "I don't think I've ever met anyone quite like you, Jack," he said.

"I'll take that as a compliment," chuckled Jack. "But seriously, you must have some interesting stories of your own, doing what you do. You must have met some interesting people."

"A few," muttered Dean. "But hunters don't exactly have friends. Especially if your last name is Winchester." He picked at the label on his bottle. "You see, my dad has a rather...interesting talent which is really counterproductive when it comes to keeping in contact with people."

"What's that?" asked Jack.

"He manages to piss them off within probably about fifteen minutes of meeting them," answered Dean. "Most hunters have short fuses to begin with, but after meeting my dad." He shook his head. "Things get messy very quickly. There's only one other person I know who's able to stand him for long periods of time."

Jack laughed. "That is an interesting talent. Is that why you're not with him?"

"No, he's," Dean stopped, swallowed and stared at the bar. "He's following a lead on...something else. His own life's pursuit, I guess."

"And I take it you're not going to tell me what that is?" Jack teased but instantly wished he hadn't when he saw how the colour had drained out of the younger man's face. "Hey," he said more gently, resting his hand on top of Dean's. "It's okay, you don't have to tell me."

"He's going after the thing that killed my mom," muttered Dean. "Same thing he's been going after for nearly eighteen years."

"Oh." Jack nodded and bit his lip. "Heavy stuff." He paused, thinking. "Dean...I'm sure your dad didn't go off like that because he doesn't think you could handle it."

"No, that's not why," sighed Dean. "I...kind of chose to come out here on my own. He didn't need me for that and...well..."

"You didn't want to be there." Jack nodded. "Because you thought it would be a dead end."

"He's gotten leads on that thing so many times over the years, but we've always been too late or it's been a false trail," said Dean. "And just being around him when that happens is hard. He's so..." he fumbled for the right words. "Angry. Hurt. Scared. And I don't like what it does to him." He stared back down at the bar again for several minutes as though he was trying to bore holes into the wood. Suddenly, he scowled and sat bolt upright. "I've never told anyone that. Why the hell am I telling you?"

"Because you needed to get it out," said Jack simply. "I get the feeling your dad's not the kind of guy who's accommodating with advice when he's on a mission."

"Could say that," muttered Dean. "I guess –" but he was cut off when someone came and sat next to him, practically leaning against him and nearly pushing him off his stool. He turned his head and found himself eye-to-eye with a man at least twice his age who was watching him with a very calculating look in his watery blue eyes. Swallowing his panic, Dean summoned up his best 'back off' glare. "What are you looking at?"

"Well, well," said the old man, "aren't you a pretty one, hmm? All big eyes and freckles. I bet you have guys and gals crawlin' out of the woodwork to be with you." He leaned forwards right into Dean's face, his breath smelling heavily of alcohol and reached out to rest a hand on the top of his thigh. "But I bet you none of them could show you as good a time as I could, kid."

Dean squirmed. "Look, pal, not that it's any of your business, but –"

"Hey," Jack interrupted, glaring over at the man. "I'd back off if I were you. You don't know who you're dealing with here." His hand went to his side where his gun was hidden and his fingers closed around the cold metal.

"Oh, so he's your little pet, is he?" drawled the man, his words accompanied by raucous laughter from the group behind him as Dean's face and neck flushed bright red

"He's not my _pet_," spat Jack. "He's my boyfriend, so if I were you, I would just turn right around and walk away, before I make walking very difficult for you."

"Oh, so you're taken are you?" the man asked Dean. "Well, believe me, pretty boy, that is by no means a problem. I'm _perfectly _happy to share." He moved even closer. "I could make it so worth your while, especially if you put that gorgeous mouth of yours to –"

Jack had heard enough. In the past, he wouldn't exactly have been averse to an orgy or several – there'd been several occasions, in fact, where he'd been the one proposing them! But this time, seeing how scared Dean was, even under that tough glare, he knew he couldn't let anything happen. So, barely stopping to think any more, he lunged across the bar and punched the man square in the jaw before grabbing onto his shirt collar and glaring straight into his eyes.

"I thought I told you to walk away," he hissed. "While you still can, asshole." He pulled out his gun and placed it calmly underneath the man's chin. "And when people don't do as they're told...it makes me rather angry."

"Yeah?" One of the other men stepped forwards. "Well, when someone threatens one of our friends, it makes _us _a little bit angry too." He motioned to the group of men behind him, all of them clenching their fists.

"Woah, woah." The bartender, who until a minute ago had been cleaning a glass, stepped forwards. "Come on, guys, no need to get nasty with each other."

"You heard what he said," snarled Jack. "No one gets to talk to my boyfriend like that – and no one _ever _gets to touch him like that."

Dean stared at him. "Seriously? That's your line. Jeez." Shaking his head, he stood up and eased Jack's hand away from the other man's neck. "Okay, come on, man, let's get out of here." He threw a few crumpled bills towards the bartender and gave him a wry smile. "Sorry about that, dude; we're not going to start any fights. Finish them, possibly, but not start them."

Slowly, he eased Jack out of the bar, smiling at the rest of the shocked patrons. "It's okay, guys, nothing to see here, just go back to your drinks," he said as he led Jack out of the door and closed it behind him. Once they were back at the Impala, he leaned against the door and let out a sigh.

Jack frowned. "You all right?"

Dean nodded. "'Yeah, I'm all right. I'm _always _all right. 'Course," he smirked a little, "I could definitely have taken that guy."

Jack snorted. "Sure, but before or after _he'd _taken _you_?"

A violent blush spread over Dean's cheeks. "Jack!" he spluttered. "Come on, I'm not that easy!"

Jack laughed out loud this time. "Yeah, I know." Chuckling, he bumped Dean's shoulder and frowned. "Hey, you're shaking a bit; how about I get you back to where you're staying and I can...take care of you."

Dean's eyebrow shot up. "Really? That's your best line?"

"That depends." Jack folded his arms. "Do you want it to be a line, Dean?" He gave the younger man a pointed look, knowing that they both knew where this was likely to go; the only question was – did Dean actually want it to go there?

"I won't lie to you, Jack, I'm not very good at long term," said Dean, running his fingers through his hair. "I mean, what I do, it doesn't exactly lend itself to relationships."

"Maybe not. But who said anything about long term?" asked Jack, leaning in to brush his lips against Dean's. "Look. You're lonely, I'm lonely. You're gorgeous, I'm gorgeous. We met tonight when who knows what might have happened. What's stopping us being...lonely together?"

Dean bit his lip slightly as he thought about it. It was true; he was lonely and he had been for some time now, since Sam had left. He missed the feeling of companionship – his dad certainly couldn't be counted on for that – and he had to admit that Jack was certainly good company, despite the way he had unnerved him at first. But at the same time, he wondered what Sam would think if he knew. Would he think Dean was betraying him?

_Get it together, idjit. He's the one who left you and ended it, remember? You can't be betraying him if he's not with you anymore. Stop torturin' yourself and go and have some fun for once. Sam's not coming back and all that'll happen is that you'll be left scared to breathe in case he wouldn't approve. Jack's a good guy, he's here and he's hot and goodness knows, kid, you need that right now._

Taking a moment to be slightly concerned that his inner voice sounded a lot like Bobby, Dean let out a loud sigh. "Okay," he said before he stepped forwards and pulled Jack into another kiss. "Okay. Let's go."

"Damn," sighed Jack. "I was hoping I could just bend you over the car or spread you out in the back seat."

Involuntarily, Dean shivered at the thought, but he forced himself to focus on more important matters. "Dude," he choked out, "not on the upholstery! Come on!"

"Right." Jack chuckled and opened the driver's door. "After you."


	2. Chapter 2

**~CHAPTER 2~**

_The morning after the night before..._

Jack groaned softly as the sunlight started to filter beneath his eyelids, forcing him awake. He groaned when he saw the too-thin motel curtains that did nothing to stop the dilapidated room from being filled with light. Slowly, rubbing his eyes, he slipped out of the bed, deliberately not looking at the young man curled up on the other side, picked up his clothes and quickly washed and dressed himself in the bathroom. As he splashed water over his face, he started to think about the previous night.

It was fair to say that Dean hadn't been exactly what he'd expected when he'd first met him, most notably how he had been almost shy about Jack looking properly at him.

"_You're wearing way too many layers, you know that?" Jack panted as he practically ripped the denim overshirt off Dean's shoulders and scrambled at the t-shirt underneath. _

_"Well, you know what they say," gasped Dean, sounding more than a little breathless and turned on himself. "The best things do come to those who wait. And you've got a fair few layers of your own," he added, smirking at Jack's coat which had been tossed at the foot of the bed. _

"_Yeah, and patience is a virtue," growled Jack finally losing the last of said patience and practically ripping the t-shirt off with his teeth. He stepped back and stared. "Wow," he breathed, waiting for Dean's cocky smirk and matching comment to materialise._

_But they didn't. Instead, the younger man blushed a little and looked down at himself. "Yeah, I know," he whispered. "Probably should've said that packaging can hide what you don't want to see." His own eyes flickered briefly over Jack's bare chest before he blushed even harder._

_Jack sighed and pushed Dean onto the bed, tracing the map of scars on his chest and pressing his lips down firmly on one of the larger ones travelling up from his hip. "I dunno, Dean, they're kind of...heroic. Badass, even." He leaned up and kissed the a smaller white mark on his stomach. "Make you look sexy, if you ask me," he said, trailing kisses up Dean's body until he reached his face. "Beautiful," he finally breathed out before crashing their mouths together again. _

He had been so confident and forceful in the cemetery that Jack had thought that he'd be the same way in the bedroom, but in fact that couldn't have been further from the truth. Dean had been a very tactile lover, but he seemed to lean much more towards gentle caresses on Jack's skin and warm deep kisses than taking it fiercely and roughly. It had almost been like he had wanted someone to take control of him and Jack had been more than happy to oblige. Not that there had really been much need for that; Dean had proved to be a _very _responsive lover indeed.

Jack shivered a little at the memory of Dean's body arching underneath him, reacting to every little touch, every breath against his warm skin and every last movement, and how he himself had just lapped it up, encouraging Dean all the way. It hadn't taken much to reduce the young man to a moaning and quivering wreck and Jack had enjoyed every moment of it. He hadn't even been too put out when, once it was over, he had turned to say something and found that Dean had fallen asleep; clearly, the hunter had been tired and more than a little stressed out. So, Jack had just covered him over with a blanket and fallen asleep himself.

It had been a pretty amazing night, he had to admit, but in the cold light of day, Jack couldn't help but feel sickened. It had barely been three months since he'd lost practically everyone he'd loved, since the promise he'd made on that day.

"_Don't forget me..."_

"_Never could."_

"_In a thousand years time...you won't remember me..."_

"_Yes, I will. I promise."_

Jack scowled at his reflection, barely restraining himself from punching the mirror. The promise hadn't even lasted nine months; he certainly hadn't been remembering it when he'd straddled Dean's hips or when he'd fucked him so hard the bed had shook beneath them. He'd made some mistakes in his time and he knew it, but this? Could anyone forgive him for what he'd done this time? He certainly wouldn't be forgiving himself any time soon. With a growled curse, he came out of the bathroom and, facing away from the bed, started to gather up his things so he could leave quickly and quietly.

"Doin' the old 'sneak out before they wake up' thing, huh?"

Jack closed his eyes and let out a breath before he turned around to answer. But the words got stuck in his throat when he looked at the bed. Dean was half sitting up against the pillows, his large green eyes watching him sleepily and his blonde hair sticking up messily in all directions. He looked adorably young and sleep-rumpled, but what caught Jack's attention was that he was not, in fact, wrapped up in a blanket. Instead, Jack realised he had accidentally thrown his coat over him before he'd fallen asleep himself, and now Dean was holding it around his body and tilting his head at him almost in wry amusement if the smile spreading slowly over his face was anything to go by.

"God..." Jack's knees buckled underneath him and he sank down onto the bed, rubbing his face.

Dean sighed quietly and shuffled over, resting one hand on Jack's shoulder. "I remind you of him, don't I?" he said. "Whoever it was you lost."

Jack wanted to deny it, but one look at the sharpness in the younger man's eyes had him changing his mind. He let out a breathless laugh. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only in that 'takes one to know one' sort of way," answered Dean with a soft smile that felt a little foreign on his face. "Tell me about him," he blurted out and winced inwardly; this was so far out of his comfort zone it was ridiculous. But he didn't feel the need to take it back; he just knew that Jack's story was at the forefront of his mind at the moment.

Jack hesitated and worked his mouth a couple of times before he finally nodded and leaned back against the pillows. "His name was Ianto Jones," he said slowly. "It took a long time for us to get there, but he made me feel that I didn't have to be anyone apart from who I was, even when I wasn't sure I liked who that was. He was," and here, Jack let out a harsh laugh, "he was the best thing that ever happened to me and I had to go and screw it up!"

"What happened?" asked Dean quietly, taking Jack's hand between both of his own. He wanted to reach out and kiss Jack's knuckles, but he knew now wasn't the right time for it, so he contented himself with squeezing the older man's hand supportively.

"My past came back and bit me in the ass, that's what happened," said Jack bitterly. "Someone – well, something, actually – that I'd been trying to forget came back and decided to come after me. My team got caught in the crossfire and..." his voice cracked a little, "Ianto was killed in the fight. He died in my arms."

Dean winced sharply. "Shit," he murmured, closing his eyes a little. "I'm sorry, Jack. I shouldn't have asked."

"I made a promise to him," said Jack quietly. "I promised him that I could never forget him, that I would always remember him, even in a thousand years time. He's barely been gone for nine months, Dean. I didn't even manage to keep my promise for one year."

"You promised him that you'd remember him, not that you'd always be alone," retorted Dean. "Listen, like you said last night, we were both lonely, so we decided to just be lonely together. I'm sure he wouldn't have begrudged you some companionship."

_Right, _Jack immediately thought. _Tell me that again when you actually plan on using it yourself. _But he didn't say anything; it was obvious that, despite what they'd shared, Dean wasn't going to open up about his own past, whatever that might be. He glanced over at the younger man who was looking downwards and idly playing with the edge of the blanket, and sighed. _What happened to you, Dean? _

He shook his head and rubbed a hand over his face. "I should go." The bed creaked loudly as he stood up.

"Right." Dean blushed and nervously shrugged off the coat. "I suppose you'll be wanting this back, huh?" he said as he pulled on his t-shirt and boxers.

Jack studied Dean thoughtfully. "You going to be okay?"

"Yeah." Dean nodded and offered up an attempt at a grin as he dressed himself. "I'll be fine. Like I said last night; I'm always fine. I'll just look out the papers, find a new hunt, and move on. The usual."

Jack reached out to smooth Dean's hair back. "You're a great guy, Dean," he said. "I'm almost sorry we're not going to be –"

"Let's not make this any more uncomfortable than it has to be," interrupted Dean. "Sure, maybe if we'd met some other place, some other time, then who knows? But we didn't." He shook his head. "You'll be okay?"

"Yeah, I think so." Jack fought back the urge to reach out and kiss Dean's soft lips again. "And who knows – we might see each other again, we might not. So," he stuck out a hand. "Friends?"

Dean frowned sharply for a second and then let out a soft chuckle. "Like I said last night – I don't think I've ever met anyone quite like you, Jack Harkness." He clasped Jack's hand and shaking it. "But yes. Friends."

* * *

_2__nd__ November 2001..._

Dean slammed the car door shut and dropped his head onto the dashboard, hitting it with a hard thump. The Impala seemed to protest at the abuse, but for once, Dean just didn't have the strength to respond. Instead, he closed his eyes and pressed his hands against his forehead, trying to block out what he'd just seen.

He should probably have known that this was a bad idea right from the start, but he'd had to go and at least see that Sam was all right, especially today. He'd certainly do the same thing on this day every year if Sam stayed away, even if the other man didn't know it, just to be sure that he wasn't in danger. The thought of Sammy dying the way his mother had died was in Dean's mind every day, but especially as they came closer to this day, and it scared him more deeply than anything else, including the thought of facing the demon and looking into his cold yellow eyes.

It wasn't even as if he had expected anything from Sam, not for him to see him or talk to him, and definitely not for him to welcome him with open arms. He knew that time was long gone and that Sam had moved on. It wasn't as if he really blamed him either; after all, Dean was only too aware that he had little or nothing that he could have offered Sam to make him stay with him.

Still, that didn't mean it didn't hurt when he stepped out of the Impala and saw Sam at the restaurant, sat in a cosy booth with the gorgeous blonde girl, holding her hand and leaning in to kiss her. Seeing that, Dean hadn't needed words or even a look to confirm what he had already known; Sam's body language said plenty. Dean wasn't stupid; he knew he'd been replaced. He'd known the moment he'd seen the couple together; just the way that Sam had looked at her, with so much love in those beautiful hazel eyes, told him all he needed to know.

That no matter how hard he had tried and how much he had loved him, he just hadn't been enough for Sam. He'd given him all the love he had, but still he hadn't managed to give him what he truly wanted – a normal life. He'd tried, every day he had tried, but ultimately the lure of law school and a proper home and partner had proved stronger. Stanford and the girl with him had succeeded where he had failed.

Dean supposed it should have made him angry that Sam had just left like that, without saying goodbye, and then cut him out, not even calling to tell him he'd arrived safely. But it didn't. He wanted to be angry with Sam, but he simply couldn't find it in himself. Instead, his ire was directed solely towards himself for wanting to feel that way about someone he cared for so much. It wasn't as if he had the right to stop Sam from following his dreams or living a happy life with whoever he close – and he certainly didn't have the right to feel rejected by Sam's choices.

But he couldn't help it. He _did _feel hurt and rejected, not to mention more than a little confused. Not about Sam wanting something more than hunting – he'd been made well aware of that more than once since they were both kids – but about why he had gone about it in the way he had. He didn't understand what had changed so much between them; what had happened to mean that –

"Okay, stop it," he scolded himself and finally sat upright, running his fingers through his hair. "Don't go down that road, it just makes you turn into a teenage girl. Do _not _be _that _guy." He scowled at himself in the mirror. "God, I need a drink – and that does NOT mean drowning my sorrows or anything like that."

If the conviction in his voice seemed to waver a little on those last words, no one needed to know about it and he certainly didn't acknowledge it himself as he started the car and drove off.

* * *

The bar was crowded and full of smoke, but Dean sat down straight away and ordered a beer. "Keep 'em coming," he drawled, barely even looking up.

The bartender, a willowy brunette, leaned over the bar and raised her eyebrow at him. "Seems to me like you're drownin' your sorrows there, gorgeous," she said, a hint of the Deep South bleeding into her words. "Want to talk?"

"Do I look like I wanna friggin' talk?" retorted Dean.

"Aw, come on," she cooed. "I'm a really good listener and I won't judge. Come on, what happened, hmm? Parents disapproved? Too much, too fast? You get cheated on or did they leave or what?"

Dean slammed his beer bottle down on the counter. "Look, lady, I don't want to be rude," he growled, "but this is really – _really – _none of your business."

She didn't even flinch, merely studied him intently for a moment. "Huh. So, you _really _don't want to talk."

"Well, done top of the class to you," said Dean sarcastically, expecting her to take offence.

But instead, she laughed. "Oh, don't worry. Not wanting to talk is definitely not a problem for me." She leaned over even further and whispered, "I get off at half twelve. Maybe afterwards we can go somewhere and I can take your mind off it all."

At another time, if the whole situation had been different, Dean might have considered her offer; after all, the girl was very hot and very interested in him. But, try as he might, he couldn't muster up any enthusiasm for the idea. He knew that one day, he would have to at least try to move on, but he didn't want to even think about doing that tonight. So, instead, he let out a soft laugh and put on his best smile.

"Listen, sweetheart, you're a beautiful girl and I appreciate the offer, I really do," he said. "But you're just not really my type, sorry."

That did get another reaction out of her; this time, it was surprise. "Huh," she said. "Can't say that I thought you were the type. Still, everyone can be wrong at least once, I suppose." She winked at him. "Just give me a shout if you need anything else."

It wasn't until she had moved to the opposite end of the bar that Dean realised what her comment had meant. He briefly considered correcting her, but then dismissed the idea. He wasn't in the mood to be hit on and if she thought he was gay, then that was one less person to worry about. She had also, apparently, passed the message onto her co-workers, because the busty blonde serving drinks gave him a small grin but otherwise didn't bother him and the tall man who was cleaning glasses kept firing interested looks in his direction, but never actually came over to start anything.

Dean wasn't sure whether to feel grateful about that or not. On the one hand, it was nice to have some peace for a little while, but it was also slightly odd to be so openly checked out with nothing coming from it, and it did make him feel a little uneasy. Still, he appreciated the relative anonymity while it lasted and decided that he should make the most of it. Shrugging, he raised the bottle of beer to his lips, relaxing in pleasure as the cold liquid slipped down his throat.

A sudden squeal broke through his musings and he instantly turned around, looking for the source of the disturbance. His hand went to the gun he always carried inside his jacket, but then he realised that the sound had been flirtatious, not terrified, and came from a young woman nearby. He looked closer and saw that she was sidling up to a tall man wearing a greatcoat and playing with her hair, while simultaneously trying to draw in the young man who was sat next to her. Dean fought back a laugh; even when he couldn't see the guy's face, he could only think of one person who would wear a heavy coat in California – even when it was November – and who would behave like that. Shaking his head, he walked over and said teasingly, "Jeez, Harkness, can't you keep it in your pants?"

Sure enough, Jack turned around and the look of brief surprise quickly melted into one that was pure seduction. "Well, well, Dean Winchester," he said. "We meet again."

"Indeed," said Dean, forcing himself to smile. "Not intentionally, I assure you."

"Really?" asked Jack. "Excuse me." He winked at the couple he'd just been with and caught Dean's arm, leading him back to his seat. "So, you weren't here to try and get a second try, were you?"

"No!" exclaimed Dean, flushing angrily.

Jack's eyes widened. "You wound me!" he cried out, clasping one hand to his heart in such an exaggerated display of mock-hurt that everyone nearby laughed. Winking at them, Jack frowned at Dean. "So...what are you doing here then?"

"Never mind." Dean knew he was being rude, but he was too run down to care. He took another swallow of his beer. "I was just in the area."

"Right." Jack didn't believe that for a second. "And the fact that you let a beautiful and clearly very interested woman think that you were gay –"

"How do you know I'm not?"

"Just because you didn't want to sleep with her," continued Jack, ignoring the younger man's interruption. "I've seen enough attempts at sorrow-drowning to know it by now."

"Well, you're wrong," said Dean in a stiff voice. "I just came to check up on Sam. My kid brother. He's up at Stanford."

"Ah." Jack nodded. "So, you weren't 'just in the area' at all then, were you?"

"Yeah, so? What do you want, a gold medal or something?" asked Dean rather abrasively.

"Just saying." Jack knew that there was something else going on, something that Dean wasn't saying, but he could also see all too easily where this situation would end up going and he certainly did not want to see Dean ending up drinking himself into a depressed stupor. He'd done that far too many times himself to know that the consequences were never worth the effort. So, he stood up and hauled the blonde to his feet, which wasn't easy, considering that Dean was basically six foot of pure muscle. "Come on," he said, ignoring Dean's protests, "we're going for a walk. No point in you sitting here if all you're going to do is scowl at everyone; you'll frighten the customers."

"Fine," growled Dean. "But before we go anywhere else, _you_ need to get your hand right off my ass."

"No problem." Jack could take a hint and he immediately removed the offending limb, but when he followed Dean out of the bar, he walked so close behind him that his nose was almost touching the back of Dean's neck. The other man twitched a little, but he didn't comment on it; he just rummaged in his pocket for his keys.

They drove a little way away from the bar in silence. Jack wanted to say something, but he couldn't find the right words, and Dean was frowning anxiously at the car, even occasionally bending down to listen closely. Jack hadn't heard anything himself, but then again he hadn't really been paying attention, so he was a little confused when Dean suddenly pulled over and stopped outside a house that looked like it was falling apart at the seams.

"This isn't where you're staying, is it?" he asked.

"It will be if there's something wrong with the engine," answered Dean, opening the boot and pulling out his tool kit. He gently eased open the bonnet and stepped back, wrinkling his nose thoughtfully.

"Need a hand?" asked Jack.

"Nope." Dean pulled out a spanner. "There's only other person I trust to handle my girl and he's all the way in South Dakota. Trust me. I got this; it just might take a while, so make yourself comfortable."

"Oh, I will be," chuckled Jack as he stepped back to watch the blonde bend over examine the inside of the car. The November air was a little chilly, but the sight of Dean's ass in those faded tight jeans more than made up for it.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of Jack's neck began to prickle with the unmistakable sensation that he was being watched. He wanted to ask Dean if he had felt the same thing, but the younger man's head was currently buried in the bonnet of the Impala, and he didn't seem to be aware of anything except the engine. Very slowly, not wanting to draw attention to either of them, Jack turned his head in the direction of the house they were parked outside.

It took him a few moments, but he eventually spotted someone standing in the shadows. A very tall young man, probably eighteen or nineteen at the most with wavy dark hair was staring in their direction with narrowed eyes and his arms folded. At first, Jack felt that tell-tale lurch of his stomach as he wondered if the kid – because he was a kid – was someone who had had once been involved with somehow and things had ended badly. He certainly looked a lot like someone Jack had once known.

However, when he looked closer, Jack realised that not only was this man much younger than the one he had been with, but also that it wasn't even him he was looking at. Instead, it was Dean, who was still focused on the car and was now whispering encouragingly at the engine.

Jack frowned. Something about the look in the teen's eyes told him that he had some sort of very interesting history with Dean. In fact, he would stake his life – immortality included – on the man being none other than Sam Winchester, Dean's younger brother who had left to go to Stanford barely two months earlier. He certainly looked like the man in the picture Jack had spotted on the floor when it had fallen out of Dean's jeans during their one night together – the picture that had read 'Sam and Dean, May 2nd 2001. Sam's 18th birthday.'

But then, looking even harder, Jack could detect some other emotions in the boy's face – emotions that did not speak of merely a brotherly relationship at all. There was confusion hidden there in plain sight and a hint of...yes, there it was, right there. Jealousy – and something that looked an awful lot like betrayal too.

Now that he thought about it, Jack realised that Dean himself had shown at least two of those same feelings in those few moments when he had mentioned his brother. At first, he had simply seemed sad and more than a little hurt, as though he could not comprehend what had gone wrong to make Sam leave him. But tonight, at the bar, Jack had suddenly seen that same jealousy, and even a hint of anger, in his face – it was almost camouflaged by sadness, but it was there – that he could now plainly see in Sam's. Clearly, there was something more going on between the Winchester brothers and Jack had a feeling that he knew exactly what it was.

"Got it!" Dean's shout startled him out of his thoughts and he closed the boot with a grin. "She's all fixed up now and she should purr like a contented tiger rather than one who's madly –"

"Why did you lie to me, Dean?" interrupted Jack, folding his arms. "Or, at least, why did you not tell me the whole truth about your relationship with your brother?" He couldn't help but feel a little hurt and angry at the younger man's omissions; it was true that they hadn't known each other for very long, but he had thought that they had formed a connection in that time and that Dean was letting himself trust him.

"What?!" spluttered Dean, his face turning red, then white and then finally settling on an interesting mixture of the two as his eyes widened in visible panic. "I don't...I have no idea...what the fuck are you talking about?!"

"Don't even try to bullshit me, Dean," said Jack sternly. "I knew that look on your face when I saw you tonight and I knew why you were ready to drink yourself into a coma. I'm not an idiot, you know."

"Yeah? Well, since you're suddenly all into this honesty crap, you might want to try explaining something to me," snapped Dean. "Like how the man you claim to be died sixty years ago and yet you're stood right beside him in a freakin' photograph!"


	3. Chapter 3

**~CHAPTER 3~**

Jack growled and slammed Dean hard against the side of his car, fisting his hands into his jacket. "Don't you ever..." but his voice trailed off as he locked in on Dean's green eyes which were blazing with fury.

"Don't ever what?" panted Dean, who was looking as uncomfortable and flushed as Jack felt. "Ask awkward questions like that?"

"Oh, you want awkward questions?" asked Jack with a laugh. "Well, here's one for you – to go back to the original issue – when were you planning on mentioning that the person you're in love with is your brother?"

The question gained the exact reaction he had been hoping for. All the colour drained right back out of Dean's face as he obviously realised that Jack was not going to let his questions go unanswered. At the same time, he pulled his way out of Jack's grasp and walked away from him, his back and shoulders tensed as though he was a snake waiting to strike.

"I always did the best that I could to treat him properly," he muttered. "I took him out when we had the chance, made sure he knew he could trust me. I didn't want to force him into anything he wasn't ready for – not that he was exactly reluctant when it came to that." He let out a sad laugh. "I definitely didn't plan to fall in love with him, you know."

Jack nodded. "Sure. Look, I'm," but he stopped and looked around, realising that they were still outside and in public. "Shouldn't we continue this somewhere a little more private? I'm pretty sure you don't want your dirty laundry being aired to the whole world."

"Right." Dean nodded and dropped into the driver's seat. He barely waited more than a few seconds for Jack to take his own place in the passenger seat before he slammed his foot down on the gas pedal and drove back to the motel where he had set himself up for the night. During the drive, he stared fixedly at the road, but as soon as he came to a stop, he glanced at Jack and his shoulders drooped as all the energy and fight drained out of him.

"Look," he said, "I can only imagine what you must be thinking. But you're wrong. I did not plan on falling in love with Sam and I would certainly never have forced him if he didn't want it. I'm a lot of things, but I am not, and I will not ever be, _that _guy."

"I know that," said Jack quickly. "Dean, I'm not going to judge you or anything. I mean, if you came from a normal family, I might be a little more freaked out, but the fact is, you didn't. With your lifestyle and working as a hunter – I think it's natural that you would end up gravitating towards each other, because you only really had each other. The two of you eventually falling for each other seems like the next step, I guess."

Dean bit his lip. "Jack, let me stop you right there," he said. "Because I think I know what you're going to say and I'd actually like to say it first myself." He rubbed his face. "That night...it should never have happened. We both know that and...well, we both know why. Let's not sugar-coat it; it's obvious that there's too much crap going on with both of us. I mean, you're still in love with your guy –"

"Ianto."

"Right, and I'm just," Dean shook his head. "Yeah."

"Hey." Jack leaned over and slipped his arm around Dean's shoulders. "You're not _just _anything. I may not have known you for very long, but I know that you're hot and smart – and you have a heart big enough to love the entire world, if you can just let yourself do it." His arm tightened around Dean a little. "You are one of the good guys, Dean Winchester. Don't let anyone make you believe any differently."

Dean shrugged and rubbed his hands over his face. "Yeah, well, I'm..." but his voice trailed off when he looked up and saw an all-too familiar figure standing in front of the Impala, with a thunderstruck look on his face as he stared at the car. "Crap," he muttered and scrambled outside. "Sam!" he shouted desperately. "Sammy, wait! It's not..." but Sam just shook his head and stormed away, "...what it looks like," finished Dean, clasping his hands behind his head and staring up at the sky. "Son of a bitch," he muttered, unable to hide the crack in his voice.

Jack came over and rubbed his hand on Dean's shoulder. "You just wait here for a bit," he said. "I'll go and talk to him." Without giving the younger man any chance to protest, he also hurried down the road, Dean's anguished green eyes drilling holes into the back of his head.

The hunt did not take very long; Sam had barely even gone out of sight of the car, and now he was leaning against a tree as though he did not have a care in the world. Jack's fists clenched inside his pockets and he forced himself to calm down – Dean would not take very kindly to what he wanted to do to Sam, that was for sure. So, he plastered on his brightest smile, strode up to the taller man and held out his hand.

"Captain Jack Harkness," he said. "And you, of course, must be Sam Winchester."

Sam cocked his head and pursed his lips. "Must I?"

"Well, either that or there's an imposter in your brother's photograph who looks an awful lot like you," Jack replied. "I know which option I'd prefer."

A muscle started to twitch in Sam's jaw, but he quickly stopped it and smiled. "Ah, so you have met my brother, then."

"Cut the crap," said Jack, dropping all pretences. "You know I've met Dean; you just saw us and you didn't seem too happy about it." His hackles were rising with this kid already and it took a supreme effort for him not to introduce that pretty face to his fist.

"No, I'm just more concerned about how you know who I am," answered Sam. "I don't think we've ever met before and I'm pretty sure I'd remember you."

It never ceased to amaze Jack how different the same words could seem depending on who said them. Coming from Dean, they might have sounded seductive, even inviting. But now that Sam was saying them, Jack felt annoyed and defensive. "And why do you say that?" he asked.

"Well, no offence, but," Sam chewed his lip, "you sort of stand out in a crowd."

"Yes, well, I'm clearly not the only one," said Jack, looking Sam up and down. "Sasquatch."

It wasn't exactly meant in affectionate terms, but equally it hadn't been intended to be overly insulting either, but Jack was very surprised when Sam's eyes flashed with fury. "There's only one person who's allowed to call me that," he hissed. "And I don't think you're that person."

"Why did you run off?" asked Jack, changing the subject. "You took one look at the car and bolted. Was it because you were scared that your brother was going to show up and ruin everything for you, so you thought that if you left fast enough –"

"Shut up."

"If you left fast enough, you wouldn't have to acknowledge that he'd even been there? Or," Jack leaned back, hand on his hip, "was it because you couldn't stand to see him with someone else –"

The punch came faster than he had expected it to and he stumbled backwards and hit the ground as Sam towered over him, glaring. But before he could react, he heard a loud crack behind him. Both men turned round just in time to see Dean come forward, holding his shotgun.

He stepped calmly around Sam and helped Jack to his feet again. "Mind keeping it down a little?" he asked with a strained smile. "We don't want to cause a scene."

Jack nodded, embarrassed. "Sorry, Dean."

"Thank you." Dean turned to his brother and sighed. "All right, inside." Then, without waiting for an answer, he grabbed Sam's hand and pulled him into the motel room, Jack trailing behind them. "Okay, Sammy," he said, "let it out. At least here, we won't disturb the neighbours too badly."

"Disturb the neighbours?!" Sam spluttered. "Firstly, there's no one here and secondly, even if there was, I think they'd be more concerned by the gunshot that came from _you _than by two people arguing!"

"But you weren't just arguing!" snapped Dean. "You punched him! God, Sam, I know he's a little hard to take at first, but there was no need for you to do that!"

"Hey!" Jack protested, but then seeing Dean raise his eyebrow, he shrugged and nodded. It was true, anyway.

"Grown a bit of a backbone now, have you, Dean?" Sam remarked. "Or is it just selective?"

Dean frowned at him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, you know," replied Sam. "You're perfectly happy to stand up for this guy, but you couldn't even stand up to your own family? You didn't stand up for me against Dad when I left, even though you said that you _loved _me and you'd do anything for me!"

"I _do_ love you!" shouted Dean. "And I would do anything for you! But that night, I was just a little bit more concerned with trying to stop you and Dad from killing each other!" He rubbed his head. "I need some air," he muttered and stalked out.

Sam immediately made for the door, but Jack caught his arm. "Wait," he instructed. "Give him a few minutes to just cool down."

"Why is it any of your business?" snarled Sam. "He's my...he's my brother!"

"Yeah, and he's also my friend," Jack snapped back.

"Yes, well, I lo – I care about him too!" shouted Sam. "And I'm _family_!"

"Really?" Jack raised his eyebrows. "Funny that, because from where I'm looking, he has worked his ass off trying to do everything he can to make you happy and now you're off living a high life without him while I've been there for him. Sorry, but that doesn't sound like something someone who cares about his family would do, if you ask me."

"What do you know about it?" hissed Sam. "Nothing!"

"I can tell you that Dean cares about you more than anything in the world," said Jack neutrally. "I can tell you that he always has and always will, and that he's proud of you, but he misses you every day. And I can tell you that he'd much prefer that we at least tried to get along with each other."

"Who are you?" asked Sam suspiciously.

"I don't know," said Jack, the faintest hint of a twisted grin tugging at his lips. "But I think we should try not to fight. For Dean's sake, if nothing else. If you care about him at all –"

"Don't even go there," snapped Sam, but then he saw the steely glint in Jack's eyes and nodded. "Fine." He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the back wall, looking every inch the rebellious teenager.

Jack thought about saying something, but before he could gather enough words, the motel room door opened and Dean came back in. He glanced over Sam and Jack, who were pointedly not looking at each other and sighed inwardly. _God, why can't everyone just get along? _But, rather than get involved in what he knew would turn out to be another argument, he simply grabbed a beer from the fridge and dropped into a chair. "So...any hunting need doing around here?"

Sam shrugged. "Don't think..." he started to say, before he realised Dean wasn't looking in his direction and that Jack was shaking his head in response to the question. He looked between the two older men and then zeroed in on his brother. "You...you _told _him?!"

"Technically...I didn't _tell _him," said Dean. "He came across me when I was doing a salt and burn in Texas the other week. The freakin' ghost nearly killed him for God's sake! He figured out I was a hunter from that."

"Still," Sam threw his hands in the air, "you let a _stranger _find out about us! " He turned to Jack. "No offence."

Jack's eye twitched. "None taken. But I don't think you're –"

"God, Dean!" Sam cut Jack off and spun back round to face his brother. "What the hell happened to the _family business_?"

"What, do you think there's some kind of little pill that lets you forget things just like that, Sam?" Dean snorted. "Come on!" _If there was, I'd have found them and taken one years ago..._

Sam let out a bitter laugh. "You know, I managed to keep what I did from Jess! And now you –"

"Woah, hang on!" interrupted Dean. "I didn't make you keep this from your girlfriend!" He allowed himself to enjoy a small thrill at the shock on Sam's face at the realisation that Dean knew exactly who Jess was. "No, you did that on your own. And I don't know why you're mad about this; it's not as if Jack knowing about us affects you and her in any way. I tried to leave you out of it. Just...just like you wanted me to."

Sam nodded. "Huh. So…you just let someone we don't even know find out about this – about _us –_ and you call that leaving me out of it." He scoffed. "Well, no offence, Dean, but if you ask me, you've done a pretty piss-poor job of it."

There was silence for a moment, but then Sam's eyes widened. "Wait! How long have you two," he waved between Jack and Dean, "known each other? The only way Dean would be so comfortable with someone is if he's known them well for a long time."

"What the hell are you saying?" asked Dean.

Sam laughed bitterly. "How long, Dean, huh? How long have you been with him? Since I left? Before I left? You've been with him all that time?!"

Dean drew backwards, stung. "Sammy..."

"All right, that's enough," interrupted Jack, resting a hand on Dean's arm. "Sam, if you really think Dean would do something like that, you clearly don't know him as well as you thought you did. I've known him a _week _and I know that he would never do something like that. And, for the record, you don't get to be angry about this. What Dean does and who he does it with is none of your damn business anymore." He jabbed his finger towards Sam's chest. "You had your chance at something wonderful with him – you had your chance and you _blew_ it!"

Sam glowered. "You know what? Screw this!" he shouted and stormed out of the motel room, slamming the door so hard that one of the pictures on the wall fell off.

Dean sighed and pressed his forehead against the wall. "I'm not that guy," he muttered, clenching his fists so hard he was leaving fingernail marks in his palms. "I know I flirt a lot, but I don't cheat."

Jack nodded. "I know, Dean," he said, placing his hand on the younger man's back. "I know." He gazed up at the ceiling and snorted. "Unlike Sam," he muttered.

"What?" asked Dean, who had heard Jack's words. But he didn't wait for an answer; instead, he stepped outside the room and almost immediately found Sam leaning against the wall and biting hard on his lip as he stared into the night. "Hey."

"Hey." Sam's voice was almost inaudible. He looked at Dean and sighed. "I'm sorry, Dean. I was out of line saying what I said. I know you never cheated on me and I know you're not that guy."

"No, I'm not." Dean drew out a sharp breath. "What happened to us, Sam? What changed? When did what we had stop being enough for you? What did..." his voice cracked and he had to stop for a minute to get himself back under control, "what did I do so wrong that it made you stop loving me?"

Sam shook his head. "No, Dean...it wasn't you. It was me."

If Sam had thought his words would be comforting, he was sadly mistaken. Dean jerked backwards, feeling as though he had just been stabbed straight through the heart. "Sammy..." he gasped out, his breath hitching on the word. But before he could speak again, the motel room door creaked open.

"I think you've said enough, Sam." Jack stepped forwards and placed one hand comfortingly on Dean's shoulder. "It's time for you to leave. Your _girlfriend _will be worried." The words were a challenge and he knew they both knew it. He was daring Sam to stay, daring him to prove that Dean still meant something to him, that what they shared _was _important to him and always would be.

"Right." Sam nodded and started to leave, only to change his mind and turn back. He walked up to Dean, who hadn't moved since Jack had appeared and placed one hand gently on his cheek before leaning in and kissing him softly on the lips. His insides twisted a little and his heart raced when he felt Dean kiss him back, but he managed to pull away before he allowed it to develop too much. Instead, he forced himself to look up, straight into Dean's questioning green eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered, taking no pleasure in seeing the struggling hope disappear at his words.

"Sammy..." Dean choked out, "please..."

But Sam shook his head and just dropped his hand down into Dean's and clasped it gently for barely a minute before he pulled away and walked back into the night, without looking back, biting back the tears that were threatening to spill down his face.

"Sam!" Dean called out, starting to rush down the stairs and go after his brother. But then his fingers brushed over something that had been left in the palm of his hand. He opened his hand and hissed sharply when he saw the plaited leather wristband he was holding and he remembered the night that he had given it to Sam.

* * *

_Dean stepped back and smiled to himself as he admired his handiwork. John might have left them alone while he followed up a lead – again – but this time, he didn't care. This time, it would just be him and Sam together for Christmas. They could curl up beside each other and not have to pretend like they always did when their father was around. This year, he knew, was going to be their best Christmas ever. Even so, he couldn't help but feel a little nervous when he heard the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow as Sam returned to the motel. But, with a deep breath, he picked up the small parcel he'd left on the table, slipped it into his coat pocket and opened the motel room door. Almost immediately, the icy cold snow and wind hit him like a freight train. _

"_Shit!" he gasped, drawing his coat closer around him. He wasn't exactly unfamiliar with these conditions, but that didn't mean he had to like them any more than he liked the burning heat of the Nevada desert during the height of summer. He grimaced at the memory; that had _not _been a fun trip. _

_Sam came up to the door a moment later and raised an eyebrow in confusion. "What're you doing out here, Dean?" he asked. "You're going to freeze." _

"_I was waiting for you," said Dean, reaching up to ruffle his brother's hair; at seventeen, Sam was now a good inch or two taller than he was. "It's Christmas."_

"_No kidding." Sam looked up. "You put mistletoe over the door? Dean, you do know what that's traditionally used for, don't you?"_

"_Of course I do, I'm not an idiot!" huffed Dean. "Look, Dad's away and he'll be away for a few more days. It's just you and me for Christmas this year."_

_The wary look vanished from Sam's face and his eyes lit up. "Just you and me?" _

"_Yep." Dean held out his hand. "Come on." He led Sam into the doorway and, without even bothering to check if anyone was watching, leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. "Mmm...love you, Sammy." _

"_Love you too, Dean, but it's Sam now. Sammy is a chubby twelve-year-old, remember?" Chuckling, Sam stepped inside the room. His mouth dropped open as he looked around. "Dean! Did you..." _

"_Well, with it being only the two of us, I thought I'd try and make this Christmas as...perfect for you as I could," smiled Dean. "I know it's not much, but..." he trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. "Yeah."_

"_Dean..." Sam whispered breathlessly. "I...I don't know what to say. This is...you shouldn't have gone to all this trouble, just for me."_

"_It wasn't any trouble," said Dean, shutting the door behind them. "Sam, I love you. I know I don't say it nearly often enough, but I do. I wish that we didn't have to hide, but..."_

"_One day," Sam promised, taking Dean's hands in his own. "One day, Dean." _

"_Yeah." Dean drew the small parcel out of his pocket and placed it in Sam's hand. "One day."_

* * *

The look on Sam's face when he had opened that parcel and the way his eyes had shone when he'd seen a matching band on his brother's wrist had warmed Dean's heart even more than the eggnog he'd made could have done. When Sam had tied it around his wrist in a strong knot to make sure it would never fall off, Dean had thought he would explode from sheer joy.

And now, not even a year later, everything had changed. Now, here he was, the bracelet lying limply in his hand, discarded and dismissed as Sam walked away. The hope and dream that Dean had secretly harboured that one day they would be together and live like a relatively normal couple had been ripped away and was lying in tatters before him.

"Dean," Jack said quietly, gripping his shoulder a little tighter. "Dean, come here, come on." He shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it around Dean's trembling form, guiding him back into the room. He kicked the door closed. "Damn, you're shivering," he muttered, lowering the blonde onto the bed. "I'll get you something..." but he hadn't managed to move more than three paces before Dean's hand suddenly shot out from underneath the coat and latched onto his.

"Please..."

Jack turned round at the choked whisper and one look at the tear-filled green eyes staring desperately at him had him instantly forgetting where he was going. "Oh, Dean..." he whispered, dropping down onto the bed and wrapping him up in his arms without hesitation. He kept up a litany of reassuring whispers and gently stroked Dean's hair, feeling the other man's tears soak into the collar of his shirt. "Shhh," he whispered, "it's okay, Dean, it's okay..."

"Don't...don't leave me," Dean choked out, his body shaking in Jack's arms. "Please...please don't leave..."

"Shhh." Jack rubbed gentle circles over Dean's back and held him tighter. "I'm here, Dean. I'm not going anywhere." He pressed his forehead into Dean's hair and blinked away his own tears. "I won't leave you alone, not now – not unless you want me to go. I promise."

Inwardly, he cursed himself; he knew he shouldn't be getting too attached to the young man, because it would only hurt all the more when, not if, Dean was swept away from him, just like everyone else he'd cared for. But he couldn't help it; already, even after only a little more than a week, Dean Winchester was finding his way underneath Jack's skin and a profound bond was already being formed between them – something Jack could not ignore.

"It's okay," he whispered again, "it's going to be okay..."


End file.
